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05-29-2016, 04:37 PM
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
As we walk--I, painfully slow and at the back of our small collective--I focus my attention on two things. The first is the way home, for though I've a natural sense of direction Knox travels a different road than I ever have. Have I not found it or not looked for it? Is there really much of a difference?
Second, I keep my gaze flickering back to the little bird on fire. Yet another companion that is not my own, another love and joy I've been denied. She's friendly enough but she isn't mine--isn't mine to connect with so she can't be mine to lose. I already made that mistake once, and I don't ever plan to do it again. After one or two times catching her eyes, I put my head down entirely. It isn't just myself I should be watching out for, it's her.
Darwin's response to my father's lackluster welcome simultaneously irritates and pleases me. It resides somewhere between compliment and insult—injures somewhere between pride and apathy. Do I care for this home, the place of my birth, or is it simply somewhere I wander back to when the night comes, on a road so different from my father's?
Unsure of my own feelings, unable to respond, and not in any position to answer Darwin's question, I stand quietly in my father's shadow—a continued disappointment. My new uncle's question echoes in my own mind, my own slowly closing gold eyes. Is someone going to come, or are we really all alone out here?
""
Can the child within my heart rise above?
